Second Time's the Charm
by Happy Endings for All
Summary: "It's impossible, but he feels like she's familiar to him. Maybe it's because he's tried to woo her before." This is a love story, told in two different worlds.
1. Tabula Rasa

Second Time's the Charm  
>Chapter One: Tabula Rasa<p>

_The head physician in the small-town Storybrooke hospital (who, it should be stated, is neither psychologist nor neurologist) described it thus: the patient's mind was something of a blank slate, a clean white page. This attempt to describe the experiences that colored John Doe's consciousness was, predictably, inadequate. The man of science could not fathom the possibility of John Doe's other identity - not, that is, David Nolan, but of Prince "Charming" James. For different reasons, David could not quite make the connection either. Even as his brain formed different connections through strenuous physical therapy and rigorous mental exercises, David could not make sense of the mental snapshots of a different universe. At least, not without help from another kind of healing._

STORYBROOKE HOSPITAL, STORYBROOKE, MAINE. DAY 2 OF CONSCIOUSNESS.  
>He watches her flit through the different areas of the hospital and gets the feeling she's done this before, been here before. That she knows him and he should know something about her in return. For some reason, Madame Mayor won't let him see the security tapes of his hospital room (why his room would need security anything, he doesn't know, since they're supposed to be making him well, not putting him in further danger), but if he was allowed to view the tapes, he's pretty sure they will show his visitor. And that visitor won't be Kathryn.<p>

The mayor told him triumphantly that the tapes revealed him saying Kathryn's name in his sleep, like that was enough information for them to track her down after so many years, like that was enough motivation for her to come see him after so many years. He mentioned off-handedly that he doesn't remember being the sort of person to talk in his sleep, but the Mayor laughed it off: _that's because you don't remember anything._ She actually _laughed_ at him, at his amnesia. What kind of person does that?

After that, he doesn't tell her anything. He doesn't tell anyone anything. He just sits there quietly, a silent observer, and no one seems to expect anything otherwise; today, at least, between the rush of activity upon his awakening yesterday and the therapy that will start tomorrow, he is allowed a respite, to be undisturbed by doctors as if he had never woken from his coma at all. Undisturbed by everyone except for Kathryn and the mayor. The mayor creeps him out. He doesn't like that she was his emergency contact for so long.

Having Kathryn there isn't better by much. She tells him that they had a fight and he left and got in a car accident as soon as he left town. She apologizes but somehow makes it seem like it's his fault for leaving. Having lost his memory of these events, it isn't very nice of her to remind him of bad ones. How convenient for her that she can have a clean slate now, since he got one less willingly with his memory being erased.

The only indicator of Kathryn's sincerity is that she tells him about their fight. She could have lied to him and told him that they had a good marriage. But he would have known that she was lying because he finds her irksome even now. He doesn't want to talk to her, he doesn't want her to give him a hug that he isn't sure how to respond to. He just wants to be left alone by everyone. Everyone, that is, except for Mary Margaret.

Mary Margaret doesn't disturb him. She's there, present, but distant – not in his room. She doesn't come in and he's disappointed, because he wants to thank her, because she's a mystery to him and he wants to ask her why she saved him and because even though he doesn't know her, he doesn't know anyone really and he feels like he could talk to her. But she doesn't come in to his room. Maybe she's avoiding him because she talks to everyone _but _him in the hospital. She knows her way around the place, that's for sure, so he can't flatter himself and say that she's only here for him. He wants to ask questions but he can't.

There it is, that dreaded feeling of déjà vu. But he doesn't dread it, exactly; it's sort of warm and comforting, the only memory (if you can call it that) he has of a forgotten life, only the memory is so incongruous with his surroundings. Amnesiacs aren't supposed to get déjà vu. He can't place it well enough to say what should feel right to him, exactly, but he knows what feels wrong - like when Kathryn calls him "David," or that Kathryn calls him anything, because he has no idea who she is. Yes, he knows who he's supposed to think she is, but that doesn't mean quite the same thing.

He doesn't have an exact idea of who _she_ is, either. The name given to him for his mystery savior and visitor was Mary Margaret, but it's too long, too formal. And her haircut looks _off_. But the way she _looks_ at him... He catches her staring sometimes, and she glances away but he wishes she wouldn't, even though he's guilty of staring at her too. Because she's beautiful. Because they look at each other with such intensity, like they can see into each other.

It's impossible, but he feels like she's familiar to him. Maybe it's because he's tried to woo her before. Maybe the fact that he has to try a second time implies that he didn't get it right. But the expression on her face, and her face always being there, says otherwise. They might have known each other in another time, or another life, one that he remembers. Maybe she remembers something and that's why she stares.

He can't imagine that she's just staring at him because she remembers how he looked that one night vomiting up water - at least, he hopes not, since he wouldn't want such a seemingly pleasant person associating him with such an unpleasant memory. It was unpleasant for him at least. He doesn't have much memory of waking up and leaving his bed. He only recalls opening his eyes (albeit while violently choking) to see her. Why was she there? Why did she come looking for him?

The doctors ask him what he was looking for when he got out of the hospital that night. _It must have been important,_ they joke, rather callously. He shouldn't have been able to get out of bed, since in typical cases muscles would be too atrophied, and they are reassured of his normalcy, comforted even, by the fact that he collapsed in a river face-down and almost drowned.

They seem irked by the fact that he is an anomaly. It is bad enough that he is imprisoned with incongruous ideas in an otherwise-blank mind (_tabula rasa_, they call it; they use scientific terms now because he is just a damn lab rat and no longer a human being). It is even worse that they try to restrain him with reminders of medical precedent dictating what is possible, and cautionary advice under the guise of being safe when he knows he can do more.

What was he looking for? Maybe he was just looking for freedom. From small-minded doctors. From an unfamiliar wife who, according to visitation tapes, did not come to see him once during the duration of his stay and, according to nurse gossip he overhears, did not much care about him before this.

But maybe he was looking for _her_.


	2. Lucid Dream

Second Time's the Charm  
>Chapter Two: Lucid Dream<p>

ENCHANTED FOREST NEXT TO PRINCE JAMES' KINGDOM, A FEW DAYS AFTER THE ENCOUNTER AT THE TROLL BRIDGE  
>Perhaps it was foolish of him – alright, it was definitely foolish of him, because odds were, he was going to get another rock to the face – but he was looking for her.<p>

Prince James was rather surprised by the number of times he had already managed to run into Snow White already, considering the fact that they lived in two different kingdoms separated by a wood.

But his kingdom was a small one, and it would have been a good place for her to find refuge from her stepmother the queen of her kingdom if she had so chosen. Granted, that might have ignited a war that their smaller kingdom could not win.

But facing the wrath of Snow White's stepmother might be worth it for the sake of seeing her again, even if it meant that he had to make a marriage alliance with Princess Kathryn for safety. He was going to have to do it anyway. (Since when did marriage become something that he /had/ to do?)

If you asked James, there were far too many kingdoms in the vicinity, and that meant far too many monarchs vying for power. Everyone wanted to be the only ruler in the area encompassing multiple kingdoms, and some were willing to do anything to make that happen.

While he wasn't certain how far the queen was willing to go, he did know that she was willing at least to ostracize and imprison her own step-daughter. Snow didn't seem like she was exactly an obedient princess, but she didn't seem like a liar either. She had adamantly insisted that she didn't do the worst things of which the queen had accused her, and the rest she had done just to survive. Even if she was a criminal, and her criminal acts had been more than once directed against him, he still wanted to see her. Maybe he could find out more about her.

That, of course, would require that he actually find her. And this was proving to be difficult.

Really, he shouldn't be having such a hard time. He'd caught her in a trap in the middle of the forest, for goodness' sake. That time, though, he'd had hoofprints to follow. Now? Nothing.

Letting out his breath and rubbing the fading scar on his chin (it was becoming a habit now), he tentatively took a few steps in a desultory direction. At a slight rustling sound, his fingers instinctively curled around the hilt of the sword that hung on his hip. His eyes narrowed as he glanced around the forest and his fingers flexed. What was it? Trolls? Bandits? Snow White? Snow White...

It had to be her. With that thought, one corner of his mouth twitched into a smile - whether or not it did so voluntarily, he couldn't say. "I know you're out there," he taunted, crossing his arms over his chest. "What are you going to do to me? Hit me with another rock?"

His smile dropped as the foliage parted to reveal... dwarves? He didn't exactly see them as threatening, in spite of the leer that their apparent leader wore as he answered, "Something like that."

A club suddenly materialized, and before James could so much as draw his sword, it was swung deftly to connect with the side of his head, and everything went black.

* * *

><p>UNKNOWN LOCATION IN THE FOREST, THAT SAME DAY<br>Fingertips pressed the cool cloth gently against his aching face. He was an infant again, back before his brother was born (even though he knew Thomas' name, and knew of the simple fact that he existed). A fire was burning through his brain, racking his body with pain and taking over his mind, with his loving mother's ministrations as his only comfort. How she was alive again, he couldn't explain, but he wasn't complaining.

Even though his thoughts were racing, his body was kept completely still; it felt heavy. The only thing he could move was his hand. He flexed his fingers experimentally.

"He's waking up!"

Definitely not his mother.

He opened his eyes to make out the source of the gruff and unmistakably male voice and sat up fast, regretting it instantly as his head smacked into the carved crown moulding of a very low ceiling. A low groan that barely sounded like it came from a human, much less from a prince, emanated from the back of his dry throat as he put a hand to his throbbing temple. His whole head hurt.

"Great. Now look what you've done," Snow White grumbled good-naturedly as she bent to pick up the bowl of salve to be applied to his face that he had knocked over with his sudden movement. "Doc spent hours searching in the forest for those herbs."

"Hours?" James repeated incredulously. "How long have I been out?"

"Upset her again and I'll make it for longer," growled the dwarf who had clubbed him as he swung the weapon menacingly.

"What did _I _do? _You _assaulted a prince, and without just cause!"

"Just cause," the dwarf echoed scornfully, as if it was a foreign concept to him.

"Easy, Grumpy," Snow soothed before glancing back to James. "Don't hurt yourself, Charming. Your face is all you've got going for you and I don't think you can afford to lose any more intelligence by hitting your head again."

She had admitted he was handsome. …in a backhanded compliment sort of way.

He narrowed his eyes before grudgingly lying back against the pillows once more, becoming aware of his surroundings, and the fact that his booted feet were hanging off the edge of the bed.

"You know, I'm really not surprised that you're in cahoots with such vicious vigilantes," James muttered, pressing the cloth to his forehead himself as Snow White's hands were now occupied.

Snow shut him up by thrusting bark between his teeth. "You're supposed to chew it, genius," she directed with a roll of her eyes.

"I'm not so removed from the world as to be unaware of the pain-killing properties of willow," he retorted through clenched teeth. "I can take care of myself."

Snow laughed. "Obviously."

"Hey! I wouldn't have any problems if it weren't for you and your little... minions."

"Little is derogatory. They prefer to be called dwarves."

Grumpy's eyes flicked between the pair warily. "Is he bothering you?"

"Go get some oleander, will you?" she smiled sweetly.

"With pleasure," Grumpy answered, a rare smile (or at least that was what the grimace could be assumed to mean) on his own features.

James sat up - carefully this time - and raised his eyebrows. "I know what that's for too."

"Getting rid of Grumpy so we can talk in peace," Snow laughed. "If I wanted to kill you, you'd be dead by now."

"Gee, thanks. You could have fooled me," James groused. "Careful now. If you say that, you're confessing that you're keeping me alive because you actually like me."

"Or because I like the idea of your _nag_ having a panic attack when she doesn't get to fawn over you, and ransom money for a prince will feed eight for a long time without having to kill defenseless animals."

James ignored the first part of her comment - he didn't really want to talk about _her_. "There are seven? Of him?"

"No, they all have different personalities. You act like you've never seen a dwarf before."

"People who aren't criminals don't have to hide out in the forests where they live."

"You just changed the subject!"

"So did you." He smiled faintly. "What did you do to get such an angry stepmom?"

She crossed her arms. "You first. What did you do to get such a whiny fiance?"

He laughed, weakly. "Like you said: it's just a marriage alliance. An agreement between my father and hers.."

"Sounds like a riveting romance," Snow snorted sarcastically, sitting on the bed beside him – not that there was much room to spare on the tiny mattress.

"What do you care? It's none of your business."

"Then you didn't have to tell me about it. And anyway, it's none of _your _business what I did to make the queen angry. You can't force me to do anything; you're the captive here."

"You really think I'm going to be held against my will here by you and a bunch of short people?"

"Dwarves," she corrected half-heartedly.

"Whatever. I'll have you know I could turn the tables on you quite easily."

Snow White smirked and lifted her chin a notch, challenging him. "Prove it."

He had her on her back before she could say another word, and this time she had no rock to smash his face with.

"Now, tell me. Fair's fair."

She was a bit breathless. "I don't think _this _is fair. And if Grumpy comes back and sees you doing this, he _will _kill you."

"He won't be back for a while. There's no oleander in these forests. You told him there was so he'd leave us alone."

She looked shocked speechless for a moment before she pursed those pretty red lips and narrowed her eyes at him, silently wondering how he'd known that but not willing to give in and ask, he was sure. "I wish there was so I could eat it myself."

He laughed. "C'mon. I'm not that bad."

"According to you."

"Tell you what – we'll make a deal."

"You were already creeping me out – now you're going to go Rumplestiltskin on me?"

"Oh, relax. He hasn't been seen in years. He's living somewhere up in the mountains or something."

"How do I know you're not him in disguise?"

"Very funny." He stuck his tongue out at her, and they both laughed at how childish they were being, until he could see tears in the corners of her eyes. James looked at Snow intently and she met his gaze before glancing away in discomfort. He backed off, letting her up from the bed, and the spell was broken.

"You don't have to tell me, if you don't want to," he said gently. Maybe he should get out of there before she started to cry. He didn't think he could take that. At least she didn't seem interested in holding him hostage anymore. Though he really didn't think he would mind not having to propose to Abigail just yet, and just getting to stay with Snow.

She had turned her face to the side, as if trying to escape his scrutiny, but his eyes were indeed on her - following the outline of her jaw, the white curve of her neck. He swallowed and took a step back as she brushed her hair out of her face, tucking the dark mass behind her ear, apparently trying to collect herself. She didn't seem like she was about to cry, but seeing her stuffing her emotion down and covering it with anger… that was almost more disturbing.

"It was my father," she said quietly, still not looking at him. "The man she loved. Who she says I... killed."

James' brows furrowed. Snow White had done some wild things, but he couldn't believe that she had murdered her own father. Speculation was dangerous, but she didn't seem willing to elaborate.

"I'm... sorry," he managed after a moment.

She looked defensive. "I didn't do it, you know."

"Yes. I know." His expression softened at the pain on her face and he hesitantly reached out to take her hand.

Though she tensed and her eyes were initially narrowed as they flicked up to meet his, she didn't move away. He traced the pad of his thumb lightly across her knuckles and her lips parted as if she was about to say something...

Until the door slammed open and Grumpy stormed in.

"I searched the whole wood and couldn't find a sprig of the damned stuff," he griped, throwing his coat down.

"Language," Snow murmured half-heartedly, some of the fire gone out from her voice.

Grumpy noticed this as well, and though he said nothing, he directed a glare towards James, who was apparently to blame for everything. "If you're going to keep breathing, you don't have to do it here."

Snow smiled, just a little, at the incredulous expression on James' face.

"Be right back, Grumpy. I'll walk him to the first tree to make sure that he doesn't get himself killed between now and then."

James resisted the urge to make a snide remark, for the sake of spending more time with her, as they ducked and carefully made their way out of the little cottage.

"Nice place you got there," he offered.

"I can't take credit. The dwarves are very proud."

James nodded. "As they should be." He glanced over at the first tree, which was getting steadily nearer, even though they were meandering along at a leisurely pace. "So what are they like?"

"They had some names that I couldn't pronounce in Dwarf, so they're named after their personalities: Grumpy, you met; Doc, who helped gather the herbs; Sleepy, you won't see him; Bashful, you won't see him either; Sneezy, Happy, and Dopey."

"I see," James chuckled.

"They're like my family now," Snow explained with a shrug. "My father died in a hunting accident when we were on a ride together."

Meeting her gaze sympathetically, James said sincerely, "I'm so sorry for your loss."

Snow managed a weak smile. "Thank you. It's fine though. It was a long time ago. And the dwarves are good to me."

"Don't you miss castle life?"

"What am I going to do about it?"

"...touché."

"Well, we're here at the tree."

"So we are. I've made it this far."

"Shockingly."

"Goodbye, Snow White."

"Goodbye, Charming."

This time, when he walked away, he looked back. But she wasn't looking at him.

* * *

><p>PRINCE JAMES' FAMILY'S CASTLE, LATER THAT DAY<br>That night he dreamed of her.

Images swam through his head of faraway places so strange he did not understand them. He would not remember them when he was awake. When he woke, he would have a different sort of dream; he would still dream of her, but as she was. In this dream, he pictured her with short hair, in odd clothing – and alone, desperately alone, standing by herself in an empty room.

The first two things were unlike her, but what about the latter? Though they were both surrounded by people, they were alone.

He was aware he was dreaming. And he was also aware that he no longer wanted either of them to be alone. He wanted her to marry him. He loved her.

But how would he get her to love him?


	3. Terra Incognita

Second Time's the Charm  
>Chapter Three: Terra Incognita<p>

STORYBROOKE GENERAL HOSPITAL, STORYBROOKE, MAINE. DAY 3 OF CONSCIOUSNESS.  
>On the third day, she finally comes into his room. Since she has been avoiding him, it isn't polite to ask why she has been avoiding him, so he doesn't. But he still wonders about it.<p>

He wonders why he is still here; no one will tell him the true answer, though the mayor does say that she wants him to be kept under observation, which sounds creepier than she probably intended.

He isn't sure how Mary Margaret is here before his wife is. In theory, his wife should put down everything to come see him. In theory, Mary Margaret has no connection to him. In theory, it shouldn't feel like his wife is interrupting his conversation when she shows up. If she shows up.

Mary Margaret is always here. At the same time, in modest but feminine clothing with simple jewelry like a cross necklace. He doesn't know much about anything in this place, but what he doesn't know about Mary Margaret, he is learning fast. He studies her. She is safe; consistent. Maybe that isn't the sort of thing that a man should be attracted to. But he is. God help him, he is.

How can he love someone that he's only known for… two days? Someone that he doesn't _really _know? But what he knows about her is enough: she brought him flowers every day and read to him while he was still in a coma, and that was more than Kathryn did; and she saved his life when he came out of it.

Still, when it comes down to it, he doesn't really know her. But he doesn't know his wife either. And he doesn't feel attraction to Kathryn. He is supposed to. But how can marriage vows still be valid if he doesn't remember making them?

He feels so trapped. It is not that there is something about Kathryn in particular that annoys him; but there are things, little things, about her that he notices, things that shouldn't annoy him – things that wouldn't annoy him if he loved her. But he doesn't.

He wishes he loved her, because it would make things easier for all of them. But what is love, really? Is it gratitude to someone for what they've done for you? Because he doesn't know that Kathryn's done anything for him; he _knows _that Mary Margaret has.

Love can't just be gratitude, though. Shouldn't love be selfless? He would do anything for Miss Blanchard – maybe it's because of what she did for him, or maybe because she's beautiful, he doesn't know – but he feels like he can't do anything for Kathryn, like what he does isn't good enough. Just this morning, they were doing therapy with him and she got frustrated because he couldn't remember their anniversary. And she didn't tell him what it was.

The only nice thing about trying to ascertain his own feelings is that he doesn't need a memory for it. It can be in the here and now. Which is his only option, really.

Mary Margaret gives him an apologetic look as she comes in, like she's interrupting something (she isn't).

"Sorry to barge in like this," she began with a smile. "I don't know if you remember me—" She breaks off and winces. "Sorry. That came out wrong."

He laughs, and he can tell it surprises her because her eyebrows shoot up. "Yes, I do remember you. How could I forget the woman who saved my life?"

This time her smile is bashful, and a bit of color pinkens her peaked cheeks. "I… It just was the right thing to do."

He wonders why it seems like she's trying to brush him off, like what she did for him wasn't important. He doesn't doubt that she wouldn't do it for anyone else, but it hurts him a little that she seems like she's trying to ward off the idea of any attachment she has to him. Maybe he's making that up.

But it doesn't stop him from forcing the issue a bit. He can't ask her why she didn't come yesterday, so instead, he asks her why she _did _come every other day.

"My physical therapist this morning said that you've been bringing me flowers, Miss Blanchard," he begins with a smile.

"Oh…" She hugs a folder to her chest. "Well, the children and I do that for everyone… I'm a teacher—"

"The doc told me that too," he adds. "Do you read to everyone?"

She looks caught for a moment before recovering with a faint smile. "No. Just you. One of my students wanted me to. You reminded him of a character in the story."

After this, he relaxes, just slightly. He doesn't know why he feels the need to prove that he means something to her.

"It's really nice of you to come by. I missed you yesterday," he offers.

"I didn't want to intrude… you looked busy with your wife," she replies, a bit tentatively. "It's so wonderful that she finally found you."

"Yes." Was it his imagination or was there a bit of an edge to the word _finally_?

"So, what kind of exercises do they have you doing?" A quick and tactful subject change.

"So far, they've just been prodding my memory, seeing what I remember. Nothing."

"I'm so sorry."

"I'm not," he says simply – and he is surprised, but he isn't. "From the sound of things, things weren't that great before."

She bites her lip and he can tell that she doesn't know what to say. Of course, he feels bad for making her feel uncomfortable.

"But it's alright. The hospital food is pretty good. And I've had a nice visitor."

This gets her to smile. "Really?"

"Yeah. I was expecting it to be terrible, but anything's better than a tube."

She laughs softly, melodically. "I meant the visitor."

He fiddles with the sleeve of his hospital robe and smiles at her. "She's great too."

Not that he could eat _her _up.

Yikes.

"The student who wanted you to read to me… he was with you that night, wasn't he?"

"Henry? Yeah. He's certainly got a curious spirit."

He nods. "So… what did he want you to read?"

Deep down, he feels like he already knows the answer.

"Fairy tales," she answers, the corner of her mouth quirking upwards.

"Ah. I hope there's a happy ending for both of us."

It occurs to him that he is flirting with her. He isn't sure what that means, and he also isn't sure why he can't really help himself. It just feels so natural to have this banter with her. Why is she so much easier to talk to than Kathryn?

He knows Kathryn is trying hard, but he doesn't want her to have to try hard. This sort of thing should be effortless, shouldn't it?

It is, with Mary Margaret. Even though it seems like she's trying to hold him at an arms' distance. Even though she disappeared when Kathryn showed up two days ago like she was caught doing something wrong.

Were they doing something wrong?

If they were, why did it feel so right?

"Maybe you could read it to me again," he suggests, since Mary Margaret hasn't said anything. "The story. If you were reading it to me before I woke up, then that must mean something."

"I'm afraid I don't have it with me," she replies slowly, "but… we could do something else."

He is surprised, both by the fact that she does not have it with her – Mary Margaret seems like the sort who is always prepared – and her initiative in offering a different activity. "Like what?"

"Oh, I don't know. They have a decent collection of board games here. Anything you like: Trouble, Life…"

"Those two go together nicely," he laughs, though he wouldn't really know, since he can't remember anything from his life. "I'm afraid I don't know what those board games are." He pauses and raises an eyebrow. "You're a teacher though, right? You said Henry was your student. You could teach me."

She smiles, apparently impressed. "You're very observant. I'm sure you'll pick it up fast."

"I have a lot to learn. I don't really know anything about this place. I feel like a foreigner."

"Well, if it makes you feel any better, some people have lived here their whole lives and still feel like outsiders. Some things you don't want to remember."

He is silent for a moment after she says that, because he isn't really sure how to respond. She senses this, he supposes, because she speaks again, hastily.

"I'm sorry. I… have absolutely no right to come in here and say silly things when you've lost your memory, for goodness' sake—"

"It's okay," he interrupts, cutting her off before she can get any guiltier. "I don't mind." He offers her a grin. "I like listening to you. And you apologize too much."

"Sorry—"

They look at each other for a moment before they both start to laugh.

Mary Margaret glances at the clock. "Visiting hours are over," she realizes, sounding genuinely disappointed.

"It's okay if you need to go – I can take a rain check on the game," he assures her. The end of visiting hours never stopped her before, according to the fact that she was reading to him when he regained consciousness very late at night, but she seems anxious to abide by the rules. "I wouldn't want the spell to be broken," he jokes, because somehow he remembers a time constraint on fairy tales – a detail from her reading that must have stuck in his subconscious memory.

She blinks at him, and he wonders if it's because she didn't get it or because she didn't think it was funny, and then she smiles faintly. "I'll see you tomorrow."

He likes that she doesn't call him David. He likes that she leaves him with a promise. "See you tomorrow then."

* * *

><p>AN: Set before and written before the scenes in tonight's episode, 1x05.<p> 


	4. Normative Influence

Second Time's the Charm  
>Chapter Four: Normative Influence<p>

KING GEORGE'S CASTLE, GALAFORD, SOME WEEKS AFTER JAMES' TRIP TO THE DWARVES' COTTAGE  
>It was easy to fall in love with Snow White when he was with her, so James had decided to take some time away from her to see if he could judge that his feelings were present even when she was not. But soon enough, he had found that the old adage was true: absence <em>did <em>make the heart grow fonder.

Although, to be fair, she wasn't quite absent. She wasn't there physically, but no matter what he did, he couldn't get away from her. He found himself thinking of her when he was having tea with Abigail, and it was hard to keep from laughing, while she was complaining about one thing or another (not that he ever listened as well as he should have), when he remembered Snow referring to her as the "nag with the bad attitude." (Only five seconds with her, and Snow had already determined this.)

He struggled to stay focused on preparations for the wedding, because it was impossible to think of what seemed right for a wedding that he increasingly did not want to happen. He could no longer picture himself sliding his mother's ring onto Abigail's finger when he said her vows, not after seeing how perfect it looked on Snow's (despite her denial), not when he knew he could only sincerely say those vows to Snow.

It seemed like, even out of his control, Snow kept coming up in conversation. Abigail immediately noticed the bruised and swollen area of his temple. It wasn't like he could tell her that it was from Snow's dwarf-guardian trying to ward him off because he'd been tracking her. He had lied and said it was from a tree branch while riding in the wood. That, of course, had induced her to prohibit him (as if she had such authority!) from riding out anymore.

And then there was the incessant questioning from his father if he knew of Snow White's whereabouts. Queen Grimhelde was quite serious about locating her, since she was a murderer and all. Of course this made James all the more curious to find out the truth of the story, and in order to do that, he had to speak to her again. This meant she had to actually be not imprisoned.

All of this avoidance of her when other people brought her up in conversations made him all the more anxious to see her again. He became edgy, and it was difficult for him to lie to his "father's" or his fiancé's face, so he became more distant from them. When they wanted to see him, he gave the excuse of having to work on wedding plans. This was not entirely a lie, as he was thinking about a wedding; just not one to Abigail.

It seemed like the natural thing to do, if you loved them, to marry them. That was not to say that all marriages had to be built on love, because it could be the sort of thing that grew with time, if you did not already love someone else. But it was too late for that now. He belonged entirely to Snow White.

Perhaps marriage was entirely out of the question, because even if he proposed, he very much doubted she would say yes. He had no reason to think that she harbored any kind of affection for him, even though he'd tried to point it out to tease her (and possibly prove it). She had saved his life from the trolls because she couldn't let him die, but that didn't imply that she placed any more value on his life than she would on any human's, even though he was a prince. For a bandit, she certainly had a moral compass.

Being a prince (albeit an adopted one), and a handsome – yes, even charming – one at that, he knew he could have married any woman he wanted. But he didn't want just any woman; he wanted Snow. And she wasn't going to marry him just because she was impressed by his status.

She wasn't impressed. She was a princess, and that meant that she basically had to marry a prince, or at least a nobleman, anyone who might have pursued her wasn't exactly jumping at the chance now that she had been deemed a thief and murderer. Even so, none of those things were what drew her to him.

He wanted her to love him.

Knowing that, he couldn't go on living the way he was, with his fiancé residing in a wing of his father's castle until the wedding. There could be no wedding to her. He wanted to marry someone he loved; he had told his mother as much, and it was a promise he intended to keep. He had for a long time now been waiting for some kind of loophole, deep down hoping that he would be able to get out of it. He still doesn't have an excuse his father will accept, but it's certainly enough for James.

By this point, with the wedding only weeks away (because royal weddings do take some time to plan), King George did not really care whether his son maintained an honorable relationship with Abigail. They were to be married, and an heir to be produced eventually. James' "father" only required that formalities were abided by in public, if not in private. He involved himself in the relationship only as far as fathers normally interfere in arrangements, while still giving them time alone, perhaps in the hope of encouraging affection between them.

If he had so chosen, James could have taken advantage of Abigail, but he had no desire for her – she's whiny and frosty, and it's quite impossible for him to imagine having that sort of relation with her. There was never any physical contact between them; he sat on the other side of the carriage, or the opposite side of the table, and their comings and goings were marked with bowing and curtsying rather than embraces and kisses. The extent of his touch was on her elbow when escorting her to dinner, or her hand when helping her out of the carriage.

In spite of everyone's best efforts, the engagement was nothing more than the period necessary to make agreements – treaties between the involved countries, negotiation on the dowry, and such things. Since the decision to marry Abigail had not entirely been his own, James knew that the decision not to do so would already affect other parties who had to be consulted.

He was relieved when he found his father alone in his study in a rare moment of solitude, and was glad that he did not have to be judged by a dozen attendants.

"Your Majesty," he began, pausing long enough to wait for the king to look up from the petitions he was looking over, to be certain that he had his attention. "I wish to break off my engagement to Princess Abigail."

The king's brows knit together in suspicion. "You know the reason why that is not a wise decision, _James_. I strongly advise you to reconsider it before you act in haste."

"I have been considering it," "James" insisted. "You know I can be trusted in my intentions."

"And I suppose you will expect me to speak to Midas and take the fall for it," George sighed, introspective. "Such is the life of a king, taking all the blame."

"Or all the credit," his son reminded him. "I know there would be many advantages to an alliance with Roxbury, but are there not other kingdoms with which to make an advantageous match? Akanesley is a large kingdom rich with resources, for example."

George shook his head, putting up a hand. "Do not speak to me of that traitorous girl!"

"Snow White," James corrects.

"It doesn't matter what her name is. She has been missing for some time now, with more of Grimhelde's men gone missing looking for her."

James was silent – he was the reason those men were missing, because they had found Snow White, and when they were about to kill her, he had killed them.

"And even if she could be found, her crimes are unpardonable! Even if she was not killed, a marriage to her would bring a scandal, not favor. If you do not marry well, our country will be ruined, your brother left without prospects. Do not be so selfish. Abigail is not so terrible. What gave you such an idea in the first place?"

Already James had thought of all things; some of them he had determined to be avoidable, and the other things he had decided were worth suffering. But at the final question, he could say nothing.

Understanding dawns on the king's expression. "You've found her, haven't you?"

"Why would I tell you if I had? You would have Grimhelde's forces arrest her!"

"You _have _found her!" George groans and places his face in his hands. "I should not have had you taught tracking. Now _I_ am in a dilemma. If I am questioned about whether I know the whereabouts of someone who has information about the fugitive princess, what am I to do?"

James looked at his father in disgusted belief. "If it's so difficult for you to do the right thing, then let me make the decision for you," he growled, slamming the door on the way out.

* * *

><p>ENCHANTED FOREST, AN HOUR LATER<br>Maybe it was cowardly of James to run away from his father, knowing that he couldn't come back, because if he did he would have to go back to a wedding. He was cowardly to run away from Abigail. It was possible that his father was right and being married to Abigail wasn't that horrible, because in an arranged marriage, a husband and wife weren't expected to be together any longer than the time it took to make public appearances and conceive an heir.

But he would have liked to think that it was brave of him for standing up for what he believed in. Or at least for what he loved.

Still, there was a thin line between bravery and stupidity. He had no idea if Snow White would return his feelings. It did not matter though, because he was still going to get out of marrying someone that he didn't love, he was still going to protect Snow White from getting captured by Grimhelde's forces with his father's help, because he wasn't going to tell his father what he wanted to know.

It was understandable, he supposed, for his father to want Snow White captured, if he considered her a threat and he wanted to gain Grimhelde's favor. But from what he knew of Grimhelde, she didn't give her favor to anyone, cared only for herself, and lied about the nature Snow White's crimes, even if Snow believed she really had ruined the queen's life. And he doubted that his father was motivated by morality as much as practicality.

However, it was difficult to stay angry at his father when they were essentially acting on the same principles of love – his father for love of his kingdom, and James for love of Snow White. Even if he wasn't angry, he was still resolute.

Even if he had left for good reasons, though, perhaps he had done so a bit too impulsively. He hadn't thought to bring along any food, for one thing, and his horse had lost a shoe while cantering through the forest. James also realized, about halfway to the dwarves' cottage, that if someone chose to follow his tracks, he would lead them right to Snow White's cottage.

But even if they did follow him and find Snow White, that might not mean the end of her. While he was riding at breakneck speed through the forest because he was angry at his father and just needed to escape, he had not been entirely foolish; he had been formulating a plan in his head of how he might try to get Snow pardoned. That would require him talking to her to gather evidence, of course, by talking to her.

And that was what he intended to do. Glancing around to make sure that no one was watching him, he knocked lightly on the door to the dwarves' cottage. He frowned when there was no answer.

Once more, his hand went to his sword hilt. Maybe this was some kind of trap – set up by Grimhelde or by Grumpy, he couldn't be sure.

He tested the doorknob and the door swung open. He glanced around the place and found it totally empty, with no sign of a reason why. He sank down into a chair in disappointment and increasing anxiety as images flashed through his head of brutal arrests. Something awful must have happened.

Snow White was gone.

* * *

><p><em>AN: Since I haven't done one of these so far, this is gonna be a long one!<em>

_Hi everyone who is reading, and thank you for those of you who have reviewed! I'm glad there's been a positive response to the story so far. You guys make my day._

_Also, I ought to have explained the titles of the chapters. "Tabula rasa" means blank slate in Latin and supports the "nurture" side of the nature vs. nurture debate that babies are born with empty minds that are formed by the world around them, not determined by their genetics. A lucid dream (Chapter 2) is being awake or aware while you're dreaming. "Terra incognita" means unknown land, which is kinda eerie because I wrote it before 1x05 and I believe that's almost exactly how David Nolan described it. And "normative influence" is the effect of acting like everyone else in the group, like King George might due under Grimhelde's manipulation._

_I decided to use the traditional name for the Evil Queen because I didn't know what else to use, and I took the liberty of naming the kingdom where George (James' father), James, and Thomas (George's brother, who will be Cinderella's husband) live "Galaford," the kingdom where Grimhelde and Snow White live "Akanesley", and the kingdom where Abigail lives "Roxbury." Gala, Roxbury, and Akane are all names of apples._

_Sorry this chapter was kinda boring (and sorry for the author's note), but let me know what you think._

_To be continued!_


	5. Learned Helplessness

Second Time's the Charm  
>Chapter Five: Learned Helplessness<p>

STORYBROOKE GENERAL HOSPITAL, STORYBROOKE, MAINE. DAY 4 OF CONSCIOUSNESS.  
>The third day, she doesn't come at all. Yesterday, he'd asked if he would see her tomorrow, and he had thought that he would. He has come to count on her. But he doesn't see her.<p>

He sits and waits in his room, pad of paper and pen at the ready for another game, even though he really just wants to talk to her. It might be difficult to act like things are entirely normal between them after what he said yesterday, but it didn't seem to make her too uncomfortable. Or so he had thought.

Had he driven her away by saying to her what he had? He doesn't have any friends from whom to get advice. He doesn't have any friends, because he doesn't know anyone. And he is pretty sure that even if he did have friends, they wouldn't tell him what he wants to hear, that this is all wrong and all a dream and he's going to just wake up from it and be married to Mary Margaret instead of Kathryn – _did he just think that? _– and everything will feel right again.

But since none of that's going to happen, he just wants to see her. To apologize, at least. But she's not here. He wants to ask someone where she is, but he doesn't know who he can trust to give him a straight answer. He feels stuck in this hospital. It will be 6 days before he can get out of this place. Maybe 6 days is nothing compared to however-many-years he was just frozen in time, but since he was frozen in time, he doesn't remember any of it, so he wasn't really bothered by it.

He's bothered by this.

Even when he does get out, though, how will he find her? He feels like he knows so much about her yet he doesn't know how to contact her.

Maybe she isn't really gone, and he has nothing to worry about, and she'll be back again tomorrow. Maybe, worse, she was in some kind of horrible accident like he was when he tried to leave town. And then she won't remember anything either… but he would still feel like she was right. But leaving him by choice? That would be even worse. Or is that a horrible thing to think? Still, he thinks it anyway.

He is left in a torment, caught between wanting to ask someone and facing ridicule, or just sitting there alone with no company but unanswered questions.

He's never been the sort of man to take things lying down. So he gets up and walks around the hospital. Maybe he's just been overreacting, and she's been here the whole time, just visiting other patients and she hasn't made her way to him yet. But he searches the whole place without a sign of her.

Finally, he approaches the worker at the front desk. "Have you seen Mary Margaret today?" he asks, putting as much cheer (and as little worry) into his voice as he can muster.

The secretary gives him a long look, and he knows that she knows something he doesn't know, but she just shakes her head. "Sorry, honey."

Sorry for what? That she didn't know where Mary was? Or that she did know and wasn't telling him?

He clenches his jaw for a moment and givesa nod of thanks, turning around to go back to his room in dejection, and turning almost straight into Kathryn.

"Kathryn," he greets her with a tight smile. He has to restrain the urge to ask _What are you doing here?_

"Surprise!" she answers chirpily, thrusting a brunch of flowers into his hands. "These are from our garden."

_Ours? _It still sounds so strange.

"Thanks," he manages, a bit stiffly. "You really know how to make me feel special."

And it seems sometimes like she does – she is trying really hard. Sometimes. She brings him a lot of stuff when she is there, but it seems a little bit like she is trying to buy his affection. He feels a little bad for her, and he guesses he couldn't blame her after everything that has happened. But still.

Still, she isn't Mary Margaret.

"Where is Miss Blanchard?"

That name jerks him out of his thoughts well enough.

"I don't know," he admits, the corners of his mouth turning down. "I haven't seen her yet today."

Kathryn purses her lips thoughtfully. "Maybe it's just as well," she says with a shrug.

David feels himself tense defensively, almost to the point of bristling, and he is sure it is visible. "What do you mean?"

Stroking the flower petals in an obvious attempt to avoid meeting his gaze, she answers with affected nonchalance, "Oh, just… you know… she has kids to teach, David; she can't be here all the time to take care of you. That's what I'm here to do."

David is silent, turning his face away slightly as Kathryn gently touches his chin in what must be a bid to bring his attention back to her. He hears her sigh and feels her pull away, and he hates what he is doing to both of them.

"I'm sorry," he says, quietly. "I just… I just need more time."

She gives a small smile that's supposed to look sympathetic, and he wishes he didn't find it patronizing, but he does. "I understand."

"No, you don't," he replies simply. He doesn't sound angry, just… tired. He is too exhausted from all of this therapy and all of this trying to care about a wife he doesn't want, too exhausted to be angry. "You can't possibly know what it's like. I don't know anything or anyone. Mary Margaret is my only friend, and she's gone without an explanation."

"I think you're overreacting," Kathryn says slowly, like she's trying to appease a trouble child, but it just sounds insensitive.

"If I am, saying it isn't going to calm me down," he points out, a slight edge in his voice now.

She takes a deep breath. "I'm not trying to fight with you, David."

"She's my friend."

"Is that all?" Before he can answer, she shakes her head, apparently changing her mind. "Don't tell me if I don't want to know."

He can't tell her, of course, that he feels like he's fallen in love with someone in a matter days, and he doesn't love the woman who he's supposed to have been married to for years.

"Now I'm the one overreacting," she says, with a tight smile. "I'm sorry, David. I guess you can't really blame me for being nervous about losing such a catch. Even to her."

Being called a "catch" doesn't distract him from the rest of her statement.

"I'm trying, Kathryn, and I know you are too. But what do you have against Mary Margaret?"

"I just find it a little suspicious that she's here all the time and leaves whenever I get here."

A short laugh issues from David, short and bitter with disbelief. "Are you insinuating that I'm having an affair while I'm in the hospital?"

"I don't know, David," Kathryn responds curtly. "Are you?"

"This is ridiculous," David blusters, and he knows he's evading the question.

"Just tell me the truth."

He is unfamiliar with this side of her; everything she has shown him so far is sweetness and photos and cranberry muffins.

"No," he admits, a moment later.

Kathryn stares at him for a moment before nodding. "Good. I'm grateful to her for saving your life, but you know you don't have anything to gain from getting involved in something like that with someone like her."

He is unsure what that is supposed to mean, and he is silent and still, overwhelmed.

Kathryn places a tentative hand on his shoulder and he doesn't shrink away. "You have me," she reminds him. "Other people will leave you; you can't trust them. But I'll always be here for you."

She's right; Mary Margaret did disappear unexpectedly. He's not quite willing to admit what that might mean – about her, about _them_. If such a thing had ever existed, other than in his mind.

"I know it's hard, feeling betrayed when someone leaves you," she empathizes – and he realizes a moment later that she refers to when he left her, which is unfair given how different the circumstances are. "But we'll get through this. And you get to come home in just a couple of days."

"I need some time to process all of this," he murmurs.

Really, he just wants to be alone. He has a lot to think about, and Kathryn is muddling his thoughts. She can almost make him believe that she's right. But somewhere, deep down, he knows there has to be some kind of better explanation for why Mary Margaret seemed to suddenly abandon him. It probably does have something to do with the fact that she leaves every time Kathryn arrives. There is hope, after all, that she might have feelings for him too.

"I'll be here tomorrow," Kathryn says gently, consenting to his unspoken request, and he nods. He allows her to give him a chaste kiss on the cheek before she leaves.

He looks at the flowers she has brought him, placing them by the widow where they can be exposed to the sunlight. Then he sinks onto his bed and glances out at the place where he walked with Mary Margaret yesterday. Where did she go? And why?


	6. Vade Mecum

Second Time's the Charm

Chapter Six: Vade Mecum

_AN: Sorry for the lack of updates, guys! I was studying for finals. Sorry I didn't warn you beforehand. I'm going to try to keep this story as canonical as possible, though it can be tough to do, while the show is adding new flashbacks with each episode, so I may have to go back and edit things as I go. In case anyone's curious, the title of this chapter is Latin for "constant companion."_

_And now, without further ado…_

SNOW WHITE'S COTTAGE, ENCHANTED FOREST, THAT SAME DAY

The prince wasn't the sort of person who took things lying down. He wasn't just going to wait around and hope that Snow White came back safe and sound. He was going to find her.

After all, not too long ago, he had been living a simple life, getting sheep into pens; now he could kill a dragon. He wasn't scared of a lady who put up wanted posters for her own step-daughter. Granted, his newly-acquired skill with the sword probably wasn't going to be the way to defeat Queen Grimhelde, but he liked to think that he had something of a way with words. …even if they hadn't succeeded in charming Snow White.

He wasn't going to get far on a lame horse, and he didn't have much of an idea of where to go, either. It probably wasn't the best idea to spend a day trudging through Grimhelde's kingdom and just march into her castle, demanding Snow's return.

So it came as something of a relief when, in spite of the shock it gave him, he found himself on his back, Snow White's knee pressing into his gut and her dagger pressing against his throat.

"If this is what you want, there are better ways to tell me," he said breathily, managing to smile in spite of having the wind knocked out of him, both in surprise and swelling pleasure.

"Shut it," Snow growled. "What are you doing here?"

"Looking for you."

She pressed the sharp blade more firmly, eyes narrowing. "So are the queen's forces. I'm surprised we didn't find them on our doorstep after you left."

"_What_?" He lifted his chin slightly. "Let me get this straight. I save your life by protecting you from the queen's soldiers, and then you thought I was going to turn you into them?"

"You were only keeping me alive long enough to find the jewels."

He hissed a short, bitter laugh. "I can't _believe_ you." He pushed her arm away, irritated. "Maybe because it was the honorable thing to do."

She removed her knee and her knife, but made no other attempt to move, cocking an eyebrow at him. "Or you were trying to get into my unmentionables."

His face flamed; surely, she was testing him on purpose. "They're called that because you're not supposed to mention them," he growled. "Though I can't say I'm surprised you've lost all etiquette." He folded his arms. "And even if I was the sort of prince who went around deflowering young maidens, what makes you think I'd be going after _you_? I have a fiancé."

He doesn't know what made him say it; he wasn't trying to hurt her. But for a moment, pain flashes across her face before she sets her jaw resolutely again, and he knows he has.

"Just go," she says tightly, letting him up, "before Grumpy kills you. Or I do."

"I can't," he says, gently, knowing he needs to fix this. "Because you're not the only ones who want to kill me. I told my… _father_ that I'm not going to marry her."

For a second he thought Snow was going to tell him that he should definitely go back then, but she just quirked an eyebrow in disbelief and James grasped for an explanation. "What? I would think you of all people can know that your relatives can be murderous."

"She's not related to me," Snow said flatly. "By marriage, but not by blood."

James knew how that felt, too. Why couldn't he tell her that he wasn't who he said he was? It didn't quite matter that his name wasn't James, because she never called him that anyway.

"Fine, then. If we're going to be stuck with you, you might as well have something to eat."

He takes this as an apology.

"Grumpy and the others are on their way," she adds. "To answer your question, the reason you didn't find us when you – very creepily, by the way – snuck into our cottage is because we were on the way back from a raid on my step-mother's castle."

"Thank you for the rare offer of kindness, but I'd rather not partake in stolen food."

"Well, look at you, all high and mighty. Not all of us can afford to have a 'holier-than-thou' attitude."

He got to his feet, sliding the sword back into its scabbard, and sighed inwardly. "You'd be surprised," he muttered, mostly to himself.

"So, you broke up with your fiancé, huh?" she started, sounding unusually conversational.

"Not like it's any business of yours."

"Except for the fact that you told me in the first place."

"…touché." He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. "It wasn't my decision to get into the marriage. I was forced into it."

"You didn't seem to mind before," she reminded him.

"When you're a royal, you don't do what you want to do – you do what you have to do."

"Tell me about it," Snow grumbled in agreement, eyeing the door he'd left open and stepping over the threshold.

He followed her inside the cottage and sat down, waiting for the dwarves to arrive with the food. "Stealing from the queen… that's pretty risky, isn't it?"

"Not like it's any business of yours," she retorted smartly, causing him to roll his eyes self-deprecatingly at having his quip turned back at him. "I did live in that castle for most of my life, you know. Longer than she has, anyway. And she's sent so many guards out into the woods to look for me that it isn't hard to sneak into the kitchen."

"I see."

"I told a secret about an affair she was having, and for that, the man was killed, and I accused of the murder."

James' eyes widened, searching hers for some more explanation, but he was already surprised, and could not expect her to say anymore after already saying so much.

There was no time to ask anything more anyway, as with a thump, the cottage door opened again, and the dwarves filed through it, causing James to jump slightly as they filled the small cottage and dumped the contents of the sacks they carried onto the table in front of him unceremoniously.

"We feast tonight!" one of the dwarves declared with a giant grin.

"That's Happy," Snow quipped, leaning in close as she subtly pointed out to him the names of all of her companions. He found it a bit hard to focus on what she was saying. Not that he could tell the dwarves apart anyway, even if he was paying full attention.

"I can see that," he managed with a faint smile, sitting back in his seat a little.

"Will you be eating with us?" Happy asked, sending a grin in James' direction.

"Or taking a post-dinner nap with us?" added Sleepy, around a yawn.

The other dwarves looked at him shyly as they anticipated his answer, curious about this stranger. He wondered how much Snow had told them about him, if anything.

James chuckled and shook his head. "Thank you, but no. I actually have something I need to do."

"Good, he's leaving," Grumpy groused.

Snow shot him a look. "And what is that?"

"What, are you worried about me?"

"No, but if you're going to tell the queen's forces of our location, it would be better to just kill you now."

James scoffed. "We've already been over this. I'm going to get some real food."

"You mean meat?" Grumpy asked hopefully, perking up as he glanced away from disdaining the pile of apples to greedily eyeing the bow and arrow slung over James' shoulder.

James grinned. Maybe there was a way to get Grumpy to warm up to him, after all.

Snow crossed her arms. "You know I don't like hunting wild animals. When you're up for raising a farm specifically to be eaten, and not taking away the life of the forest, then we'll talk."

The dwarves all groaned in unison. "We haven't had meat in _weeks_!"

"Then you'd better get started on your husbandry."

"Just this once," James insisted.

"We're not looking for handouts," Snow said stubbornly.

"Then let them repay me with a new set of horseshoes. I've heard dwarves are good with metalworking."

Snow folded her arms. "And who do you think I could spare?" She glanced among the dwarves. "Sleepy is… indisposed, Bashful is too shy, Dopey is too… well… You can't trust Sneezy with anything that requires a steady hand, Doc was too busy with other things to learn how to be a farrier, Happy will be helping me cook, and Grumpy…"

"Grumpy will do it," Grumpy finished, looking between them with a scowl.

"Really?"

"_Really_?"

"No, I'm joking, you idiot," Grumpy snarled in James' direction, grabbing a mug from the table on his way out.

James grinned triumphantly at Snow as he followed Grumpy.

Watching while Grumpy prepared the bellows and fired up the materials for the shoeing, James tilted his head slightly.

"Go ahead, take a sip of that liquid courage," Grumpy grunted, glancing over his shoulder from where he was kneeling beside the horse's hooves. "You'll need it."

"I'm… sorry?"

"I said, you'll need it. For the talk we're about to have."

James' brows furrowed and he obediently took a swallow from the mug. "I cannot know what you mean."

"I may be _slightly_ shorter than you, but I'm sure the size of my brain is twice yours," Grumpy sighed, hammering the shoe on. "I know you're in love with her."

Choking on the swig of ale, James took a moment to compose himself before considering how he might answer. He did not think he could deny it.

Grumpy didn't give him time to, anyway. "Her father is dead and we're the closest she's got, if you're planning on asking permission."

James was dumbfounded. "I… Do I have your permission, then?"

"That depends on whether or not I get hers."

James sighed inwardly; that was never going to happen. "Of course."

Grumpy straightened, patting the horse's flank. "It's done."

"The horseshoes? …thank you."

Rolling his eyes in disgust, the dwarf replied, "Her permission. It's given."

James looked at him in amazement.

"She's been acting… different lately," Grumpy explained grudgingly. "You're not good enough for her, of course, but we're all getting tired of the whole… friendship with the forest animal thing."

James smiled faintly, still in disbelief. "I have to go," he breathed, grabbing his horse's bridle.

"Oy! You said we were going to go hunting!" Grumpy shouted after him, but James just grinned over his shoulder as he rode off.

To think… soon, he could be married! To Snow White! He would tell his "father" that he was going to marry Snow White, who had just as good of an inheritance as Princess Abigail, if not better; he would request payment for slaying the dragon in Midas' gold, not in Abigail's hand; he would speak to Grimhelde to see if he could talk sense into her. Or at least if his father could.

He started down the back road, the "scenic route," as it was the only one he could get to from the forest. It ran along the line between his kingdom and Grimhelde's, and since he hadn't eaten at the cottage, he was quite hungry. He rode for some time, planning and thinking and imagining – it must have been hours and hours, but he hardly noticed, just as he did not notice the chill –

before stopping at the side of the road, reaching for the lowest branch.

"Don't eat that!"

James plucked the apple from the tree anyway before turning to look at the peasant man who had spoken. "Who's going to stop me? The queen herself?"

"Grimhelde knows apples are Snow White's favorite, and she's been stealing them," the man said tremulously. "She's had the whole orchard magically poisoned."

James' horse was galloping before the apple hit the ground.


	7. Priming

Second Time's the Charm  
>Chapter Seven: Priming<p>

STORYBROOKE SCHOOL, STORYBROOKE, MAINE, A FEW WEEKS LATER  
>David tried to make sense of what he'd heard from Henry. He didn't talk to the kid much, but whenever he saw him around town, usually at Granny's diner, he was always going on about something excitedly.<p>

Apparently Sheriff Graham was starting to remember the fairy tale life that Henry professed every Storybrooke resident had, and he hadn't been able to remember anything of his life here in Storybrooke. David might have been thrilled by the similarity to his situation, but it hadn't been unusual for him to be unable to remember anything – until a couple of days ago, that is. Suddenly, everything had come flooding back to him, just at the sight of the windmill.

It made no sense, really, that something he'd hated so much would trigger all the memories, and he didn't like it much that his dislike for something stood out more than a love. He still didn't love Kathryn, but he was sure he must have, once, or he would not have married her.

Right?

Since physical therapy had proved unnecessary after emerging from the coma, he had started doing more memory training, mostly on his own, since the hospital could not mandate it now that he had clearly recovered some of his recollections. Still, it was not quite enough to satisfy him. He wanted more.

He had been avoiding the places where Mary Margaret usually frequented, in part because he felt guilty about what had happened with leading her on, and in part because he wanted to keep his own feelings for her in check. It was the right thing to do. But he _was _hoping to run into Henry, and the place where he was most likely to do that, in a system of compulsory education, was at his school.

Waiting outside, he had to confess he felt a little bit creepy. After all, he was an unemployed male (Kathryn assured him that they were financially secure, so he could wait until he was back on his feet to go job hunting, and he didn't know what he was really good at anyway) standing outside of a school. It shouldn't have felt like he was doing something off, but he knew that he shouldn't be here, for Mary Margaret's sake if nothing else.

Still, she seemed to be over him. Not that he could tell. But it still bothered him a little that he had seen her, multiple times now – while he'd been trying to avoid her, mind you – out with Dr. Whale, who he had always personally thought was kind of a tool.

He caught Henry's eye as the school bell rang to dismiss them, and Henry jogged over.

"Mr. Nolan! What are you doing here?"

"Actually, I was hoping to talk to you," he admitted. "Do you have a minute?"

The light in Henry's eyes dimmed a little, making David distantly aware that he was probably trying to set him up with Mary Margaret, and he raised and lowered one shoulder. "Sure. If I went home, I would just have to do homework anyway."

"Well, don't let me keep you from that," David replied with a weak smile. "I just wanted to ask you about something."

"The book?" Henry asked hopefully, dropping his backpack to dig it out eagerly.

David hated to ruin his excitement, but… "Actually, about your psychologist."

"Oh." Henry's rapport with Dr. Hopper was substantially higher after the events at the mine, and he'd let the talk of fairy tales continue, but was still pressing him for a _reason _for it, something that Henry could not really explain. "Sure. Do you need his help with your memories?"

"Yeah, that's exactly it. Do you know when he's free?"

"Well… you could always just call him," Henry shrugged. "Here, take his card. I don't need it."

David took it with a rueful smile. "Thanks. I could have just called him, but I couldn't remember his number."

"No problem." Henry looked him over for a moment, making David involuntarily tense; it was like the kid knew something about him that he didn't know himself. "If you ever want to talk about other stuff, you know where to find me."

"…right."

Henry loped off, and David was left to look at the card, drawing out his cell phone.

"You really shouldn't be here."

Glancing up to see Mary Margaret looking as formidable as she possibly could (not that it was much) with her arms crossed over her cardigan and her chin raised slightly, David pressed his lips together, hardly sure what to say.

"I just needed to get something from Henry."

Mary Margaret sighed. "Don't tell me you're encouraging him in that whole… Snow White, Prince Charming fantasy of his."

He winced at the unexpected hostility in her voice. "Of course not. That would be…"

"Ridiculous."

"He's just a kid, Mary Margaret. He's allowed to have an imagination."

"Well, we're not," she said quietly. She twisted the ring on her finger silently for a moment, looking at her hands, not meeting his gaze. "He's got these ideas about us, and I think unless you stay away from him – and away from me – you're just going to be indulging them and making things worse."

David inclined his head in acquiescence. "If it means so much to you."

"It does."

"Alright. I won't bother either of you again." As he turned to go, he flapped the business card against his palm, telling himself it was all he had come here for, trying to swallow the increasingly-familiar ache of remorse that clutched the back of his throat.

He wandered around town for a little while, searching for the address on the card that Henry had given him. After the incident with the mayor telling him the wrong way to go when looking for the toll bridge that night, he didn't trust anyone else's directions, and one thing that hadn't returned to him with the rest of his memories was a mental map of town, so he wanted to get to know it again.

It struck him that if he hadn't listened to the mayor's advice, he wouldn't have seen the windmill, he wouldn't have remembered, and he wouldn't have broken things – whatever "things" entailed – with Mary Margaret.

At last, he found his way to the office, which was quiet and empty, and ducked inside tentatively.

"Dr. … Hopper?"

"That's me." Archie looked up from the large book lying open on his desk. "Well, if it isn't the wonder patient. What can I do for you?"

"Do you have any books on memory?"

Archie smiled crookedly. "Somehow I knew that was what you were going to ask. Must be that psychology degree."

Weakly, David managed to return the smile.

While searching through the stacks of text on his shelves, Archie asked, "So, tell me about your memories."

"They just came back recently. It started with a windmill… it used to be on our front lawn, but I hated it, so Kathryn sold it to Mr. Gold."

Mr. Gold. The name made Archie shiver visibly, and David wondered why.

"That's interesting," Archie said slowly, turning back around empty-handed. "You know, I can't say I've heard of other cases with such spontaneous memory recovery except—" Archie licked his lips. "Except for when they weren't real memories."

David's eyes narrowed curiously. "What do you mean?"

"Well, there are a couple of different circumstances in which it could occur," Archie started, seeming to find comfort in the scientific rather than applying it specifically to David's situation at the risk of offending him. "You can prime someone to look at things a certain way before they see them, or frame them a certain way after they happen. You can have false memories implanted just by repeated suggestion. But sometimes, that heightened suggestibility happens through hypnosis, and a specific word or object, called a post-hypnotic suggestion, will bring about the memories or behavior that has been previously trained, even if those memories aren't real."

David was skeptical, and took a step back in disbelief. "You've got to be kidding me. There's no way I was hypnotized."

"Oh, don't worry, hypnosis isn't like all of the insanity people have made it out to be," Archie hastily defended himself. "Like I said, it's just a state of heightened suggestibility. It's like… it's like having an imaginary friend. It's a choice, almost conscious, really, that people make to get lost in something they want to believe."

Flopping into the closest chair to take a moment to process this, David remembered how hard he had been trying lately to feel things for Kathryn, and how he wanted to remember, how he'd even been pretending to remember things like the name of their dog. He remembered how the mayor and Mr. always acted a bit suspicious, and it almost seemed like they had conspired to put the windmill in his line of sight.

"Tell me more," he demanded.

Archie's eyes flickered around nervously. "Well… I'm afraid the mayor has forbidden me from taking on any more clients at present. She's a bit angry with me; she thinks I've been encouraging Henry too much." He cringed. "I've already said too much."

David exhaled. It always seemed to come back to Regina Mills.

"But… I can give you this," Archie compromised, offering a book.

"Thank you." David turned it over in his hands: it was a thick, scholarly-looking volume by someone named Elizabeth Loftus. "I really appreciate it."

"And if you ever need anything—"

"I'll stop by," he nodded. "Thanks again."

He walked out of the office, a bit shocked, still looking at the book in wonder. Could this have all the answers? Or was it just another lie that he wanted to believe?

He wouldn't have believed that his memories could lie, but apparently, they could. One thing he remained unsure of: could his feelings lie, too? His feelings for Mary Margaret?


End file.
